


(Never) Too Late

by emeraldine087



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 2018 Stony MCU Bingo Fill, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Drama, M/M, Regret, The Author Regrets Nothing, apology, perceived character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 16:06:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14405664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldine087/pseuds/emeraldine087
Summary: Steve never thought there wouldn't be an "after".For the "Apology" square on my 2018 Stony MCU Bingo Card.





	(Never) Too Late

**Author's Note:**

> This fills the O4 square in my 2018 Stony MCU Bingo Card - APOLOGY.
> 
> And on that note, I apologize for this. I was too melancholy writing this and it probably shows. I'm just so excited (and at the same time, DREADING) _Avengers: Infinity War_ which will be released here in PHL on April 25, Wednesday, which I even took a leave of absence from work for--just to see it immediately (multiple times). 
> 
> This is my first time to participate in Stony Bingo (or any fandom Bingo, for that matter) so read with an open mind and yeah, concrit is very much welcome ^_^ . This is unbeta-edited, so if you spot any SPaG issues, please let me know so I can correct it. 
> 
> I'm just happy that I'm able to write something with less than 3k words. Thanks to [zappedbysnow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zappedbysnow/pseuds/zappedbysnow) for the vote of confidence and for giving this noob some instruction regarding participating in fanfic bingos. ^_^
> 
> Happy Infinity War Week, everyone! And ENJOY reading this one!  
> \---

Steve Rogers flicked the key in the ignition, quieting the loud roar of his motorcycle’s engine, and toed the side stand to park his ride. Noticing that he was not close enough to the curb, he inwardly debated with himself to do a more meticulous job of it but dreaded putting the motorcycle back to life in so serene a place just to fuss about how he was parked.

He’d been putting off going here for the longest time, and he knew he couldn’t put this off much longer. He had run out of excuses a while back. Pulling off his helmet and securing it on the handlebars, Steve dismounted from the motorcycle, stepped on the curb and began to make his way through the lawn.

He should have brought something. He should have brought a token. Or flowers from that shop he had passed three blocks over. He didn’t know if Tony was a flowers kind of guy or the sentimental type to appreciate a symbolic token. Steve had known Tony for six years, lived with the guy for an aggregate of about a little over a year, fought side by side with him for a bit more than that, but he was now only realizing that, in the grand scheme of things, he didn’t actually know all that much about Tony.

Steve knew that Tony liked— _loved_ —coffee. That he loved AC/DC and rock songs. That Tony’s favorite cuisine was Italian. That Tony secretly adored Disney cartoons. But then the rest of the team knew about those, too. Steve was no special snowflake when it came to _Tony-isms_. If it were a race, Steve would definitely be behind Rhodey and Ms. Potts. He wasn’t even sure if he would be anywhere within the top 5 of people who knew stuff about Tony Stark, come to think of it.

Steve didn’t know Tony’s favorite ice cream flavor, or his favorite color, or Tony’s favorite song, favorite actor or favorite book. Those things just never came up whenever they talked. They were too busy saving the world from one catastrophe or other. Or too busy fighting each other and being bullheaded jerks about it.

But the little that Steve knew about Tony didn’t diminish his love for the man.

Steve didn’t know when it happened, actually. He was quite certain, though, that it wasn’t when they bickered in the helicarrier on the eve of the Chitauri attack on Manhattan. His perception of Tony might have started to change during their raids on HYDRA bases when, for a time, they all lived together as a team, trying to mesh well together for the good of humanity that they were hoping to protect. But he knew that any headway they might have been able to make in their friendship was erased in the wake of the conflict due to the Sokovia Accords.

That one hurt Steve, though, when he had to bury the edge of the Captain America shield into Tony’s chest to stop the latter in his vengeful rampage… It hurt more than Steve was prepared to admit. And it kept on hurting with every week, month, _year_ that they steered clear of each other.

Two years. For _two years_ , Steve didn’t see Tony. Didn’t talk to him. They had all sorts of opportunities to meet. Only they never did. That didn’t mean that Steve didn’t _feel_ Tony’s presence. Every damn day that Steve had to— _had chosen to_ , really—stay away, he felt Tony’s permeating presence in his life. Tony’s hand was there when the rogue Avengers were pardoned so some of their number could go back to their families in the States. Steve felt Tony’s influence when the latter, working closely with T’Challa, revolutionized the Sokovia Accords and helped the transition of Wakanda from an apathetic nation into a more involved member of the world stage. And Wakanda and _Stark Industries_ , together, made leaps and bounds in science and engineering with the end goal in mind to give further protection to their vulnerable blue planet.

He didn’t realize it at first but he’d stayed alive and unmolested by the powers-that-be calling out for his blood for as long as he had because of Tony’s influence. Sure, T’Challa helped to keep him in the shadows, but it was only later on that he found out that Tony’s AI, FRIDAY, had in her base programming the protocol to keep the Avengers safe from everyone who may have been after them—be it a villain or government brass.

So, yes—he and Tony had been estranged for two years. But that gave Steve time to ruminate about how he really felt about the genius-billionaire. He couldn’t very well say _when_ exactly things had changed, but they had, and one ordinary morning, Steve just woke up, after having had the most vivid dream about Tony, feeling like there was this indescribable heaviness in his chest that only got heavier and heavier with every footage of Tony that he voraciously sought out and watched and studied. Again and again. Until he knew _every_ nuance to Tony’s facial expression that 1080p digital resolution could display.

Steve wasn’t really hoping for things to change after that mini-realization of sorts. Until it did, with the arrival of Thanos.

Then, suddenly, he had the opportunity to actually _see_ Tony, talk to Tony, fix their two-year-long rift, fight again by Tony’s side. But it didn’t have to take rocket science to figure out that one’s love life would have to take a back seat to world annihilation. Like, way, way, _way_ back.

They were supposed to save the world first and then fix what got broke in the past _after_ the smoke cleared. They were supposed to hash out their differences, then maybe, kiss and make up—make up for the two years that Tony probably thought Steve _hated_ him, when that couldn’t have been farthest from the truth. He, _Steve_ , was supposed to make a foolproof strategy to make sure that they would have an “after”.

Only…

The wind blew over the lawn, making the short blades of grass undulate like carpet with a life of its own. The late afternoon sunlight seemed to dance in time with the rhythm of the wind as beams of pale orange sliced through the quivering branches, making dust motes shimmer whilst they float interminably between sky and soil.

He knew where to find the place because of Peter Parker. It had taken Steve awhile to gather what was left of the remaining pieces of his broken heart to take himself here. To finally face Tony and say what he should have said two goddamn years ago.

Steve, loathe as he was to admit it, thought that the place was befitting of Tony Stark: majestic in its simplicity. Unpretentious. Serene. Beautiful. So beautiful that Steve found his eyes glazed with emotion even before he could stand in front of the person he had meant to visit there.

Equally majestic was the oak tree that Peter had told him about. Tony would be waiting there.

In the mosaic of light and shadow, in the fringes of the oak tree’s embrace, Steve stood, waiting, and said, “hello Tony.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to be here.” The whoosh of the wind was all the reply he got. “I wanted to be here to see you. But I didn’t know if I can. There are so many things I wanted to say to you, but I don’t know if I can even begin to say half of them without losing it.” Steve stopped talking before his voice broke, overwhelmed by his pent-up emotions.

Pain lanced through his insides and gripped his heart, choking him. His eyes stung with hot, unshed tears. He could feel his lips quiver that no amount of jaw clenching could put a stop to, not even if he broke a tooth. He had failed. He had failed humanity. He had failed the Avengers. And he had failed Tony.

There wouldn’t be an “after”. Not for him and Tony.

Taking the last two strides that would bring him right in front of the innocuous marker and falling to his knees, Steve, for the first time in months and months, unleashed his pain. He wrapped his arms around the stout memorial stone and wept, unmindful of the coarse stone against his wet cheek. “I’m sorry for that letter I sent you. I’m sorry that I couldn’t find the face to stand before you to apologize. I’m sorry I never got to tell you what I really feel. I’m sorry that I didn’t get to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. And I’m sorry that I didn’t get to tell you that I love you. I failed you, Tony. I thought there would be an ‘after’. I thought we would have time—that _I_ would have time to make it up to you, but I failed… I failed you…”

 

ANTHONY EDWARD STARK

May 29, 1970 – May 5, 2018

_“You showed the world how a phoenix can rise from the ashes. Iron Man will, always and forever, be our hero.”_

 

Vision blurry with bitter tears, Steve trailed his fingertips against the letters on the face of the memorial stone. Desperately, he inwardly called up a memory of Tony’s grinning face in his mind’s eye—the one radiant with his real smile and not his public one. He wanted that one to be his everlasting memory of his friend—his beloved. Not the impersonal letters on a gray and bleak headstone. Not the garbled voice of Tony’s last transmission, his voice tight with forced levity, before he flew enough nuclear weapons to level an entire continent and secreted it in the alien mothership for manual detonation as a last-ditch effort to bring the enemy to their knees.

 _“We’ve all had our roles and our respective skill sets to bring to the table. And we’ve been a great team, for however short our run was. But there are some things we can’t do as a team. I know each of us has our own unique impetus for why we’re doing what we’re doing. Never let go of what that is—whatever it may be. I know I haven’t—_ won’t _. I’m doing this for family. For that’s what you’ve become—_ are _—to me. Take care of my ‘bots and FRIDAY, and don’t let the people hero-worship me ‘cause you know that I’m not all that. Live long and prosper, my darling Avengers… Iron Man out.”_

They lost so much, but because of Tony’s sacrifice, they also gained much. More time for him to make up for his mistakes and lost chances might not be one of them, but the fact that the world kept on spinning after the smoke cleared was more than any of the fortunate survivors could’ve hoped for.

Movement in the periphery of Steve’s vision distracted him from his grief for a moment. A man dressed all in black with a wide-brimmed hat and carrying a tell-tale long-handled rake shuffled from behind the wide trunk of the oak towards the other headstones closer to the front of the cemetery. The man’s face was concealed beneath the brim of his hat, but the stranger still tipped it respectfully, acknowledging Steve’s presence. The latter just replied with a jerky and watery nod.

The interruption seemed to jolt Steve out of his current miserable state and he moved off the memorial stone to sit in a lotus position in front of it instead. The worst of his pain has been let out and he felt like he could really talk to Tony now—say the things he’d wanted to say. He was a couple years too late, sure, but having grown up Catholic, Steve liked to think that Tony was just…around…in a different form, but he was still looking out for them, and he could still hear and understand the things that, before that day, Steve had only ever kept bottled up in the deepest parts of his heart.

“FRIDAY’s looked into the Keeners—your friend, Harley’s family—to see if they were safe. He’s doing well in school and is looking to take up Mechanical Engineering at MIT if he could get in in a couple years…”

“…I don’t know when Peter was here last, but I know that he would want you to know that he got into MIT and a couple other Ivy League universities, but that he’s probably gonna go to NYU to keep close to his aunt, the compound and his Spider-Man patrolling duties…”

“…God, I miss your smile and your jokes so much, Tony, that I always watch old videos of you to take the edge off. But videos aren’t… I just—I miss you so damn much…”

“…I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I was so stubborn. I’m so sorry that I realized too late that I love you…”

“…Your ‘bots are still wary of me. I guess that’s understandable after what happened between us, but I worry about them. They refuse to leave the workshop, and I think they’re still expecting you to just casually walk in one of these days…”

“…The Smart Limbs Division of _Stark Industries_ is really starting to fly. It’s helping so many people, Tony. Most of the newest recipients are survivors of the war with Thanos. It’s remarkable, you know. For you to still help all these people even after you’re gone…”

And it really was—remarkable. Tony took care of all of them when they were still a team. His company took care of the people caught in the crossfire of their superheroing. And even now that he was gone, he was still taking care of all of them.

Two weeks after Tony’s last radio transmission and when his body failed to turn up following the enemy’s hasty retreat, his bevy of lawyers were dispatched to carry out his will: the Avengers were set for as long as there were heroes willing to undergo training and to fight whenever they were needed; Tony Stark had set up a trust fund for them, and or course, they were bequeathed the Avengers compound. Pepper’s status as CEO of _Stark Industries_ and the other special purpose companies, holding companies and foundations, until such time as she chooses her own successor, was also protected and set in stone. Rhodey and Happy were to share between the two of them all of Tony’s personal assets—his properties in California, New York and everywhere else, money and shares in his name which were lodged in numerous financial institutions. Peter was given a special legacy to ensure his future as a scientist and as a superhero. Bruce was bequeathed with all of Tony’s research in various fields of science and technology and his prototypes as they have the most chance of seeing future mass production in Bruce’s capable hands.  

Steve wasn’t expecting for a special bequest from Tony—not after the bitter conflict they went through, but Steve _hoped_ that Tony had left him a personal message, a short note, a sign— _anything_. Anything that could’ve told Steve that Tony had somehow managed to forgive him in the end.     

But there was nothing.

“…I guess I’ll just have to live out the rest of my life not knowing if you were ever able to forgive me or if you’d gone on hating my guts, still,” Steve said softly, looking blankly at the unfeeling headstone. “Wherever you are… I wish you knew… I wish I could have told you…”

Steve stayed well into the afternoon, until the weak honey-gold light of sunset gave way to the pale pearl glow of a late summer evening, that even the cemetery’s caretaker had vanished to leave Steve to his own devices, with nothing but Tony’s memory and could-have-beens for company.

After his apologies and declarations of love had fallen on deaf ears for the thousandth time, Steve finally stood up from the carpet of grass on Tony’s grave, dried his eyes and dusted off his jeans. “I’ll be back soon, Tony,” he promised, kissing his fingertips and planting the ghost of that very same kiss upon the cold headstone.

With one last lingering look at where his friend, his beloved and one of the best men he’d ever known was to symbolically lie in perpetual rest, Steve trudged back to his motorcycle, his suddenly cold hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket.

If Steve had taken the time to steal one more glance towards the majestic oak as he was picking up speed, he would have seen the cemetery’s caretaker slip out from the shadows, this time without his wide-brimmed hat. Even in the pale light of the gibbous moon, the stranger’s playful whiskey-brown eyes would have been very familiar.

Tugging the cloth that had covered the lower half of his face down, the familiar stranger’s face broke into a wistful but knowing half-smile. The wind whipped the man’s wavy brown-black hair that had grown long during his exile.

“And I’ll be waiting,” Tony Stark murmured for only the ghosts to hear. “I’ll always be here, Steve.”

  

 

 

**=====FIN=====**


End file.
